Page 9 of Going Overboard

‘I’m fine,’ the woman says quickly. A sniff, a pause – then she starts up again.

She doesn’t sound fine.

‘Are you sure?’ I call back, torn between giving her space and not wanting to leave her having a breakdown on her own. ‘I can get someone for you, if you want.’

‘No,’ she replies quickly. ‘I’m okay, it’s just… weddings. And my boyfriend. And… and I’m giving someone everything. Every part of me. My life, my future, my happiness – it’s all in his hands.’

I nod, even though she can’t see me.

‘That’s good, though,’ I say softly. ‘You have an open heart. That’s how love gets in.’

She gives this half-laugh, half-sob.

‘My boyfriend is never going to propose to me,’ she tells me. ‘He won’t commit. I don’t think he can. All he cares about is his job and having a good time and bloody sport – above everything. There’s someone better for me out there, someone who really cares about me – not about sport.’

‘Ugh, sport,’ I groan playfully. ‘My boyfriend looooves football.’

‘For mine, it’s cricket,’ she says, sniffling. ‘He loves it more than he loves me.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I reply – it can’t be, can it?

‘It is,’ she insists. ‘He’d marry cricket if he could. But he won’t marry me. And I guess I need to accept that. But breaking up… moving on… it’s so final. And I can see us having a great life together. Why can’t he?’

Her voice cracks again, and the yodelling sobs return, louder this time. I feel awful for her. It must hurt, so much, to love someone who can’t see the future you’re trying to build with them. And honestly? Cricket might be the most boring sport outthere – I thought football was bad, but cricket? Although, to be fair, I’ve never watched golf. It’s a close one to call.

I pause for a second, thinking about what to say, about how much to stick my beak in. This isn’t my problem, or my business, but the urge to help her is one I can’t ignore.

‘You have to be happy. That’s the thing,’ I tell her. ‘That’s all that matters. If he isn’t making you happy – and only you know whether that’s true or not – then do what you need to do. Dump him. Be with someone who makes you feel loved and chosen and not like you’re waiting to be picked.’

‘I feel bad dumping him,’ she says, softer and calmer now. ‘He obviously has issues. Commitment stuff…’

‘That’s on him,’ I reply without a moment of hesitation. ‘You’re his partner, not his therapist. Like my granny used to say: fuck around, find out.’

She laughs – really laughs this time. It bursts out of her.

Almost everyone knows that’s just a joke, that my granny didn’t really say that, but it always gets a laugh. It’s a good phrase to have in the tool belt, especially when you’re trying to cheer someone up.

‘Thanks,’ she says eventually, her voice much stronger now. ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about. You’re right. I should dump him. Go for what makes me happy.’

‘You deserve to be chosen,’ I remind her. ‘Take care of yourself, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ she replies. ‘Thanks again. I’ll sort myself out and be right out.’

I step out of the cubicle, wash my hands, and leave her to it. My work here is done.

Back at the table, Todd is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Neil.

‘The boys have gone again then,’ I say, taking my seat again. ‘I’m starting to wonder if there’s a football match on or something… Do you think they’re in the car watching it?’

Kelsey laughs. ‘They’re a funny double act, those two. Honestly, if Neil hadn’t picked one of his oldest mates to be his best man, I think he would’ve chosen Todd.’

‘Boys don’t sweat that stuff, do they?’ I say, scanning the crowd near the bar and the sweet cart. ‘They don’t overthink it.’

‘You looking for someone?’ Kelsey asks.

‘Yeah,’ I say, having no luck. ‘A girl I spoke to in the bathroom. She was crying. Like, really crying.’

‘What did she look like?’ Kelsey asks, leaning in a little. ‘I probably know her, I know almost everyone here.’

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